


I'm By Your Side (If You Let Me)

by onequartercanadian



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Cancer Arc, Caring, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Conditions, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tragedy, Vulnerability, Whump, medical whump, yeah that's probably a spoiler but i need my characters to come out the other side of tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onequartercanadian/pseuds/onequartercanadian
Summary: When Gilfoyle goes to the clinic in search of painkillers for his aching arm, he gets unexpected news that slaps him in the face. His arm pain is caused by a rare form of bone cancer.He hides it from the guys for as long as he can. Because the hardest part for Gilfoyle would be his friends seeing and treating him differently.Needing to have a real and emotional conversation that would require him to be open and vulnerable. Everything he avoided with a 10 foot pole.When Dinesh finds out, he refuses to leave the most important person in his life.
Relationships: Dinesh Chugtai/Bertram Gilfoyle, Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks
Comments: 19
Kudos: 33





	1. The Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks and hugs to birdsxboats for the beta!!!!!
> 
> Here's a playlist I listen to while writing: https://spoti.fi/2Qpx1XQ

Gilfoyle grabbed some ibuprofen from his desk drawer and popped a few in his mouth. He had been having a lot of pain all down his right arm recently. From his shoulder to his fingers. He figured it was the 48 hour code sprint he was finishing up, or all the time spent coding in general over the years.

When he finally finished he yawned and then held his head between his hands. he was fatigued as fuck. He figured it was just the lack of sleep from the code sprint. After coming back to the hostel he slept for a day and a half. When he finally woke, as the day continued, he noticed he never truly felt awake. His mind felt foggy and hazy.

_You’re getting too old for code sprints like this._

Over the next few days he realized the ibuprofen wasn’t even touching the pain and the fatigue wasn’t letting up. His joints and shoulder felt tender. When comparing his right and left arms, his right definitely felt swollen. He still chalked it up to nothing more than a coding injury. He’d just walk it off, nothing to worry about. He figured he’d try to get some opioids to deal with the pain so he could get back to work.

Since he was a white guy in the Valley, it wasn’t going to be hard.

He went to an urgent care clinic Richard normally went to. Mainly because Gilfoyle thought Dr. Crawford would give him opioids with little/no questions asked. 

Dr. Crawford walked in all jolly and playful as usual, “So lots of arm pain? I see that a lot in single guys.” He joked.

GIlfoyle gave his traditional murder glare.

“ _Okay._ ” He raised his eyebrows and looked at the chart then back at Gilfoyle, “Let’s take a look.” Gilfoyle pulled up the sleeve of his black flannel and Dr. Crawford examined his arm. “The joints and shoulder feel a little swollen. Maybe…” He felt what seemed to be very small lumps, but didn’t say anything, “I’m going to run some tests just to make sure, but I’m pretty confident it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll just give you a prescription for some painkillers and you’ll be on your way.”

“If it’s “nothing to worry about” then why do you want to run tests?” Gilfoyle asked, still glaring at the doctor.

“The D.E.A. has been getting on everyone’s ass lately about opioid prescriptions. We just need evidence for when they come knocking.” Dr. Crawford smiled as he lied through his teeth. 

Gilfoyle groaned slightly, “Fine.”

They did some blood tests and an x-ray of his arm. As Gilfoyle waited in the exam room for the results, he was more frustrated and irritated than anything. He just wanted to get some pills so he could get back to work. This had taken up _far_ more time than he thought it would.

Doctor Crawford came back a while later. His usual playful grin and joking demeanor had dissolved into a dead serious look. 

Gilfoyle felt his stomach tie in knots. He _knew_ there was something wrong. He played it cool. “What did they say? Can I go now?”

Doctor Crawford took a deep breath and thought for a few seconds, “...There were a few abnormalities in your test results. It’s not my expertise so I don’t feel comfortable making any diagnosis. I’m going to refer you to my friend at Good Samaritan Hospital.”

“What kind of ‘abnormalities’?” Gilfoyle didn’t want any bullshit. If there was something wrong he wanted to know. 

“It’s probably nothing-”

“That’s what you fucking said earlier. So what the fuck is going on?” 

Doctor Crawford sighed and took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. Gilfoyle never wavered in the intense eye contact murder glare. “There are some indicators of bone cancer. This is not my area so I don’t feel comfortable making a diagnosis.”

“So this guy you recommended. He’s an oncologist.”

“Yes.”

Gilfoyle didn’t know what to say. What to think. 

“...I came here for drugs so I could go back to work. Now you’re telling me I could have fucking cancer?”

“There’s a decent chance I could be wrong.” Like that was going to make it better, but Dr. Crawford gave it a shot. “The receptionist will email you his information. He’s expecting you this afternoon. Tell his office I sent you and they’ll take you right away.”

* * *

Gilfoyle waited outside Doctor Borgella’s office. He stared blankly at the white walls with pictures that were probably supposed to be calming but didn’t do shit for him. His mind was blank, in complete denial about why he was there. 

Eventually he was called back to Dr. Borgella’s office, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair who clearly took care of himself and thus had aged like a fine wine. He explained to Gilfoyle what tests they wanted to run and why. They’d do more through blood tests, a biopsy, as well as an MRI. He was calm and reassuring, but a matter of fact. He didn’t understate or sugarcoat the situation. Gilfoyle respected that. 

The tests took the majority of the afternoon. Much longer than Gilfoyle wanted to be there. Although he didn’t want to be there at all. They told Gilfoyle to wait as they would have his results as quickly as possible. 

Gilfoyle sat again in the waiting room. This all still didn’t seem _real_ to him. It all happened so fast. He absently checked his phone for the first time all day. He saw countless calls and texts from the guys wondering where he was because they were against tight deadlines and he had so much work to get done. 

_If this is the worst case scenario...are you going to say anything to them? How long can you hide it? How would you even tell them? What would you say? They’d_ **_never_ ** _see you the same way again._

Gilfoyle’s stomach sank and he lost his breath for a moment. That was the hardest thing that he _really_ hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with. Because that would mean a lot of very difficult conversations about very _real_ things, emotional things. 

He’d have to be vulnerable. 

Everything he avoided with a ten foot pole. 

He was called back to speak with the doctor. They had his results.

Gilfoyle took a deep breath and followed the medical assistant. He knew there was something wrong. Because the doctor would not call him back to tell him everything was fine. He’d have someone else tell him and move on to his next patient. 

His dark colored office was small but effective. Degrees from various prestigious universities hung on the walls with a dark wooden bookshelf behind his matching desk. “Mr. Gilfoyle. I looked over your tests.” 

Gilfoyle folded his arms across his chest, hiding his nearly uncontrollable fear behind his thick bitchface facade.

Dr. Borgella took a deep breath, “You have a rare form of bone cancer, Metastatic Ewing Sarcoma. It forms in longer bones and surrounding soft tissue before moving or metastasizing to other parts of the body.” He got up and showed the bone scans on a small lightbox above his desk, “It started in your humerous,” He pointed to the upper arm bone scan, “Then spread down to your elbow, wrist, fingers, and up to your shoulder and spread to your lymph nodes.” 

Gilfoyle’s bitchface faded into his serious blank stare as he carefully listened to the doctor. 

“What are the chances of this shit killing me?” Gilfoyle drove straight to the point, “How much time do I have?”

Doctor Borgella gave him a soft sympathetic look, “Long term survival rate of metastatic ewing sarcoma is about 15-30%. In your particular case I would say maybe two or three years with intense chemotherapy and radiation.”

“And without treatment.”

Dr. Borgella’s eyes widened, “About five or six months.”

“Why can’t you just surgically remove it?”

“It’s not really an option at this point because it has metastasized to your entire arm and lymph nodes. We’d have to amputate your entire arm, from the shoulder. Even then, it's not a guarantee that it will fix it.”

“Noted. Now you can fuck off.” Gilfoyle got up to leave. He didn’t want to listen anymore. He just wanted to go home and get hammered.

He wanted to pretend this never happened.

“You’re going to get progressively worse. You _can’t_ just ignore this.” Gilfoyle turned around, “I’ve been doing this for 30 years. I know what classic denial looks like. _Please_ seek treatment _._ Because it will be tougher to treat as it progresses.”

“Why? According to you I still won’t make it to 40. Or even around it.”

Dr. Borgella knew that sometimes people needed time to process this kind of news. It was the kind of news that continuously smacked you in the face and stopped your entire life in its tracks. 

“Call me when you’re ready to set up an appointment.” 

“Fuck off.” Gilfolye slammed the door on the way out.

* * *

Gilfoyle got back to the hostel early that evening. As soon as he walked through the door, the guys turned from the table, “Where the fuck have you been?” Dinesh asked, he noticed Gilfoyle had a cylindrical brown bag.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch all day.” Jared said with concern.

“I’m fine.” Gilfoyle didn’t look at them and went straight to his bedroom to drink himself unconscious. He locked the door behind him.

No one was suicidal enough to ask if he was okay.

Except Dinesh.

Jared and Richard knew to just leave Gilfoyle alone. Although Dinesh knew he couldn’t leave him alone. Dinesh knocked on Gilfoyle’s door shortly after he slammed and locked it. “Hey, Gilfoyle. Everything alright?”

“Don’t fucking bother me.” Gilfoyle shouted just enough to be heard outside. 

“It’s just, you were gone all day and now you’re locking yourself in your room with what I presume is a bottle of alcohol.”

Gilfoyle didn’t respond. 

Dinesh tried a few more times to get Gilfoyle to at least answer him, but when he realized Gilfoyle wasn’t going to say shit, he figured he’d try again later.

* * *

The next morning, as the guys were heading to the office, Gilfoyle still wouldn’t open his door. After a few tries, Jared and Richard gave up, but Dinesh decided to stay back. He figured Gilfoyle couldn't stay there forever.

Dinesh sat at the table with a mug of coffee and got to work. About 20 minutes later, he heard a door crack open and someone walk down the hall.

Gilfoyle was caught off guard when he saw Dinesh at the table working. 

“Hey, look who decided to finally rise from the dead. You came out because you thought the house was empty, didn’t you?”

Gilfoyle went towards the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. Dinesh followed. “It should be. Why are you still here?”

“Because there’s something off about you. Well. More off than usual.” Gilfoyle looked up from pouring the cereal into a bowl and grabbed a jug of milk. “I knew you couldn’t stay in your room forever. I just had to wait it out.”

Gilfoyle returned the milk to the fridge and grabbed the bowl, walking back towards his corner. 

“There’s something wrong. Something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, you.” Gilfoyle sat down at his desk and started to work.

Dinesh knew he walked right into that one.

He had this weird feeling that wouldn’t let up that there was something bothering Gilfoyle. Although he knew that Gilfoyle would willingly eat shards of glass before talking about anything even remotely real, personal, or emotional. 

Dinesh knew that Gilfoyle wasn’t going to say anything. “If there’s ever something wrong, you have my complete confidentiality.” Dinesh’s tone showed that he wasn’t joking or anything, that he was being completely serious. He figured he’d leave the door open, even though he knew Gilfoyle would never walk through it.

“Noted.” Gilfoyle was barely paying attention anymore.

* * *

For the next two weeks Gilfoyle was able to hide it all. He was more ornery and distant than usual, but almost no one brought it up. They figured it was just Gilfoyle being Gilfoyle. Dinesh tried to bring it up a couple times, but stopped when he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer other than, ‘fuck off’. 

It all came crumbling down one day.

Gilfoyle was sitting at his desk in the office when he felt lightheaded and short of breath. His chest felt tight. He figured he just needed to eat something. He couldn’t remember the last time he did so. He got up and walked over to the small kitchen area to make some cereal. He felt woozy as soon as he got up. He made it to the kitchen and subtly grasped the counter for stability. He saw black spots as his skin felt like 1,000 degrees and his boiling blood wooshed throughout his body. He took a couple deep breaths before continuing to the cabinet.

But as soon as he let go of the counter he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. 

The collapse caught the attention of the entire office, everyone jumping from their workstations to see what the fuck was going on. Richard and Jared ran from Richard’s office, Dinesh ran from his workstation. 

“CALL 911!”

As Jared spoke to the 911 operator, Dinesh knelt beside Gilfoyle, completely frozen. He had seen this sort of thing in movies but didn’t know how to put those things into practice. He felt for a pulse. There was none.

Dinesh screamed as he tried uselessly to push on his chest to perform chest compressions. Since he had only seen them in movies, he didn’t really know how to do them effectively but he still tried everything he could.

Within minutes the EMT’s ran in with a stretcher, Dinesh moved so they had access to his friend. They managed to resuscitate Gilfoyle before loading him onto a stretcher and running out of the building with Dinesh close behind. 

Dinesh sat in the back of the ambulance staring down at his friend. He had no idea what the fuck happened or why. He rigged his hands as he anxiously waited for them to arrive at the hospital. 

Gilfoyle slowly felt himself surface, wondering what the fuck happened. He heard beeps, indistinct chatter, and sirens. He immediately realized those were ambulance sirens. It felt almost impossible to move or even open his eyes. So he just tried to rest.

After a few moments he was able to identify the voices. It was Dinesh, presumably talking to Richard or Jared on the phone. Gilfoyle was _not_ prepared to have this very difficult conversation at the present moment. Dinesh would ask a million questions. So he pretended to still be unconscious. 

Once they arrived at the hospital, Gilfoyle was rushed into the ER and surrounded by doctors, leaving Dinesh at the ER doors all alone.

* * *

Jared and Richard arrived a short time later. The three waited in the ER waiting room for what seemed like an eternity. Dinesh just sat there staring at the floor. He didn’t know what to think. A doctor finally came over, “Are you the family of Bertram Gilfoyle?”

“Yes.” Dinesh almost jumped from his chair. 

“Come with me.” He said

They were led into a small private room nearby. It looked like a basic conference room.

“What the fuck happened?” Dinesh asked before anyone else could.

“Sit down.” The doctor motioned for them to sit at the long dark wood table. “I’m Doctor Wilson. I helped treat your friend when he came in.” The men were closely paying attention. “He had a small cardiac episode this morning. We’re waiting for confirmation but it could be tied to him not taking care of himself and not seeking treatment after his recent diagnosis.”

“What diagnosis?” Asked Jared

Doctor Wilson was taken aback, “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Dinesh’s voice had an undertone of urgency, demanding to know what the fuck was going on.

Dr. Wilson took a deep breath, “According to his medical history, two weeks ago he was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer, Ewing Sarcoma.”

Everyone’s stomach dropped to the floor. Dinesh felt cold and clammy, he couldn’t feel his hands as they were completely numb. His heart raced and his breathing became almost erratic. 

“W-w-what?”

“H-h-how bad is it? L-l-like what a-are his chances?” Richard managed to stutter out.

“It started in his upper arm and spread to the rest of his arm and to his lymph nodes. Without intense and aggressive treatment, it could spread to the rest of his body in about five or six months. With treatment, maybe two or three years.”

Dinesh couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although suddenly everything made sense. GIlfoyle’s recent extra ornery behavior, the night he came home and locked himself in his room. Why he insisted nothing was wrong. 

“Where is he?” Dinesh needed to know. He needed to see his best friend.

“We moved him to another floor. Come with me. I’ll show you.”

* * *

Dinesh slowly walked into Gilfoyle’s hospital room alone. Gilfoyle looked up. As soon as he saw Dinesh he immediately looked away, staring at the white wall opposite the hospital bed. If he didn’t look at Dinesh, he wouldn’t have to address the elephant in the room. He _knew_ the doctors filled them in on his condition.

He knew Dinesh was going to ask why he never told anyone. Gilfoyle didn’t want to tell him the real answer. 

If he told someone, it made this shitty situation _real._ If it was real, then he’d have to deal with it. He didn’t want to deal with it. He just wanted to ignore it, even though he _knew_ that wasn’t an option.

Dinesh stood at the foot of the bed with a concerned yet bitchy look, “You fucking stubborn asshole. Why didn’t you ever say anything to _**me**? _”

He got right to the point. Gilfoyle knew he couldn’t avoid having the very difficult, very real, conversation that he had been avoiding. 

He was still not prepared for this.


	2. Say Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinesh is pissed that Gilfoyle never told him about his diagnosis. He begs Gilfoyle to seek treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Say Something: A Great Big World  
> Inspired by: Chasing Cars; Sleeping at Last

“What the fuck, Gilfoyle?” Dinesh dramatically threw his hands up as he paced, “Were you ever going to tell me? Or did you just plan on dropping dead one day!”

Gilfoyle kept staring at a spot on the wall. Not looking at Dinesh. He figured he’d see how long Dinesh could go on yelling at him before requiring a response. 

“Goddamnit Gilfoyle!” Dinesh shook his head. He leaned on the foot of the hospital bed, “Based on what the doctor said, you had no plans to do anything about this! Why? You’re constantly finding ways out of shit! Now you’re just going to let yourself die! You’re not even going to  _ try _ to fight it!?”

Gilfoyle finally looked at Dinesh with a murderous glare.

“Oh. Glad to know that I finally got your attention.” Dinesh raised his eyebrows, “Finally have something to say?”

Gilfoyle still didn’t know what to say. He tried to figure out how to say that he was still processing this news. The ramifications. How it was going to drastically change his life. The lives of his friends. 

He came up empty. 

Dinesh continued to pace and rant about how much of an asshole his friend was. “...You’re dying and you  **_never_ ** thought to tell  **_me_ ** !? ”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

When Dinesh heard the small voice, he turned around and slowly walked to the side of the bed.

Gilfoyle looked down towards the thin blue hospital blanket. 

Dinesh sat in the chair next to the bed, listening attentively. 

Gilfoyle scoffed, “I went to get drugs from that idiotic doctor Richard goes to. Figured he’d give me some Oxy or Percocet with little/no questions. He said he wanted to run some tests, saying the D.E.A. has been on their asses lately. Turns out I have fucking cancer.”

Dinesh sat there with his hands balled into fists under his chin. He knew Gilfoyle had a point, taking time to process everything. “I get it but...all I times I asked if you were okay. That you could talk to me.”

“ _ This _ is what I was avoiding. This conversation. The pity. Everyone wondering if I’m okay.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, Dinesh understood. He understood everything. Gilfoyle didn’t want everyone to see him differently because he was sick. Treat him differently. Have difficult, emotional conversations. 

So Dinesh cut the tension, “You know, that really shows the difference between you and me.”

Gilfoyle looked at him, confused about where he was going with this. “You can just walk into a clinic and ask for drugs. If I got hit by a bus, they  _ may _ give me Advil.” Riffing on how it was easy to get opioids as a white man. Dinesh knew it was working when he saw the slightest curve of Gilfoyle’s lip. 

“Well they’re correct about not giving your people hard drugs.”

“You’re the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met. You’ll beat this and be back to normal in no time.”

“I never said I was going to get treatment.”

Dinesh’s heart stopped, he lost his breath for a moment. “W-wh-what?”

GIlfoyle stared down towards the blanket then up at Dinesh, “There’s a 70-85% chance this will kill me. The chances of me seeing 40 are slim to none.”

“B-b-b-but I  _ know _ you can defy the odds!”

Gilfoyle kept his careful monotone and eye contact, “I look at the facts. Data. Definitives. Statistics. They all say I’m a dead man walking.”

“B-b-b-ut y-yo-you-”

“I can spend the last two or three years of my life in the hospital, withering away to nothing. Or I can just keep living my life as is for the next 5-6 months. When I know I’m getting towards the end...kill myself before it takes over and I’m no longer myself anymore.”

Dinesh didn’t know what to say. How to react. He just sat there with a dropped jaw and a shocked look. He looked like a deer in headlights. 

Gilfoyle stared at the wall. He knew how badly this was hurting his friend. 

“N-n-n-n-no. Y-y-you-” Dinesh took a few deep breaths to calm himself, “You can’t die. You can’t die! You’re the biggest most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met. So I want you to fight. For whatever that’s worth. I want you to fight. I’m not going to let you die! You’re not allowed to die on me! You got that?”

Gilfoyle knew that Dinesh would be by his side the whole time, “You plan on being a pain in my ass till the bitter end. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Dinesh didn’t miss a beat. “And that bitter end will  **_not_ ** be anytime soon if I have anything to say about it.”

A thick silence hung in the air as they neither knew what to say. Dinesh finally cut the tension by showing that he was still the guy Gilfoyle’s always known.

“You know, there’s another reason you better not die. Because I’m quite an asshole-”

“And you’re  _ just now _ figuring it out?”

“And I need someone to keep me in line. Give me a kick, so to speak, every so often. You  _ know _ Jared and Richard won’t do it.” He gave a smirk.

“No. They won’t. Because they’re weak.”

Dinesh smiled. This was his way of telling Gilfoyle that even though he was sick, their relationship, their dynamic, wasn’t going to change. He’d always see Gilfoyle the same way. The edgelord asshole...who also happened to be his best friend in the world. The most important person in his life.

This mostly calmed Gilfoyle’s fears that he would be viewed differently, especially by the people he cared about the most.

* * *

Dinesh ran out for a little while and came back later with a huge bag of Chinese food, a two liter bottle of soda, and a large bottle of vodka. He grabbed some paper cups from the little bathroom then sat next to the bed. 

“What’s that?”

“We’re going to get shitfaced, eat Chinese food, and binge shitty Netflix movies.” 

Gilfoyle nodded, approving that plan. What his doctors didn’t know won’t hurt them. He grabbed a box of fried rice and a steaming bowl of Kung Pow Chicken from the hot paper bag. He pulled a fortune cookie from the bottom. As Dinesh poured some drinks and grabbed his food from the bag, Gilfoyle broke the cookie in two and read the fortune inside. He couldn’t help but chuckle which soon turned into full laughs.

Dinesh’s face scrunched in confusion, “What?”

Gilfoyle handed him the fortune.

_ Prepare for hardship and illness in coming months, but one day soon you will be strong and healthy. _

Dinesh couldn’t help but laugh at the coincidence. 


End file.
